


Slightly Deranged, by either Anxiety or Grief

by I_was_here_once



Series: Under the Present Brutal and Primitive Conditions [2]
Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: A lot of people are going to live, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Author has chosen to not tag warnings, Becca Butcher is going to live, Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Healthy Relationships, If it is in the show, It will probably be in the fic, M/M, Monogamy, Multi, Polygamy, So be warned, Tags will be updated as far as relationships go, The Boys are the focus, Unhealthy Relationships, and as far as characters go, not the supes, not translucent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:53:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27057508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_was_here_once/pseuds/I_was_here_once
Summary: There is a lot more pressure when you know they are your soulmates.Season one rewrite
Relationships: Becca Butcher/Billy Butcher, Billy Butcher & Mother's Milk, Billy Butcher/Hughie Campbell, Billy Butcher/Original Character(s), Cherie/The Frenchman (The Boys), Hughie Campbell/Robin Ward, The Frenchman & Mother's Milk
Series: Under the Present Brutal and Primitive Conditions [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972030
Comments: 17
Kudos: 49





	1. Cherry: Part One

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Thank you, everyone who read the first part. I was so amazed and supported by all the comments and Kudos. This has been an extremely rewarding experience and I am hoping I improve in quality. I just want you to know that your support and love is the reason this is going to be a series.  
> 2) Before you read, please mind the tags. If it is in the show, there is a chance it will show up in the work. If there is something in the show that you can't deal with, this fandom is full of other works. If you are a little bit iffy and really want a more in-depth view of specifics, or just need to guarantee that there is something that won't be in the work, feel free to message me at itryokkiedokkie.tumblr.com I will be happy to go through warnings with you.  
> 3) This is the second work in the series. The first part deals with the years before the show takes place to the beginning of the first episode. This work starts at the beginning of the second episode.  
> 4) A soulmate's first words are written somewhere on the person's skin. I like the idea of the random chances of this, so there will be OC's marching in and out of the story. Only one will really feature prominently. I added this one in, because she would have lived a good and healthy life if not for her soulmates. I wanted an extra perspective thrown in there to give a full view of the problems caused by the universe. This OC will change things, but don't be worried about her storyline overtaking Frenchie's, Kimiko's, MM's, Billy's, Hughie's, and Annie's storyline. This, overall, is meant to be a fix-it, though probably not until the end of season 2.  
> 5) I write about how I think the characters would act. This does not mean I endorse or support or even have an opinion on some of the things that happen. This is not meant to be a how-to guide on relationships. Again, please mind the tags.  
> Please enjoy!

_Wow,_ Hughie thought to himself. _That is- a lot of guns._

The full rush of panic had left Hughie about an hour ago, which was very nice. There was only the cool, satisfying felling of being emotionally numb. If the rest of his body would just get with the program, he would be _ecstatic._

Butcher had checked him over after they had gotten a decent distance away from the shop. It would have made Hughie feel somewhat better about his soulmate if his soulmate hadn’t _lied about being a federal agent._ Hughie was trying to hold on to his indignation, but it was difficult when he, A) was beat to shit and hurting, B) sleep deprived, and finally, C) really enjoying the fact his soulmate was touching him. Hughie hadn’t realized how much he _missed_ having a warm human body near his, being affectionate. It was especially nice because he had been able to check Butcher over too.

Liar or not, Hughie had just lost one soulmate, he didn’t want to lose another.

They had to be quick, Translucent was trying to escape the trunk, but that didn’t stop Hughie from pressing his forehead underneath Billy’s chin and Billy from pressing a rough kiss to his forehead.

This entire situation would be a thousand times easier if they could just stop touching each other. Hughie and Robin had been very physically expressive, but Robin wouldn’t touch Hughie if he was upset, and he didn’t touch her. Hughie always thought being upset was being like covered in ink, you didn’t need to spread it around the people you loved by touching them. Robin had just hated being touched when she was upset.

Butcher, though. Butcher was already covered in ink and had been pouring it on Hughie since they met. Touching him couldn’t possibly make things worse, and even if they did, Hughie was vindictive enough not to care. Butcher made Hughie feel things, and Hughie hadn’t felt anything but rage and hurt since Robin died.

He didn’t _trust_ Butcher, but that was fine. He didn’t _want_ to trust Butcher. He wanted Butcher’s hands wrapped around the back of his neck or shoulder. He wanted the interlaced fingers while he drove. He wanted the constant steady heat of him as they walked up to meet someone who could take care of the supe in the back of his trunk.

_(Oh, god there was a superhero in his soulmate’s trunk.)_

Butcher, who had been shoulder to shoulder with Hughie on the walk up to the door, took a half step off to the side, holding up a hand at Hughie’s questioning noise. With his other hand he banged on the door. The woman who opened the door was beautiful, like smoke was beautiful. She had a shirt that opened to show her soulmate words, and they were surrounded by the tattoo of a bullseye. It was _odd._

People don’t show off their soulmarks. Or at least, Hughie had never seen them show them off. Not every soulmark was coverable. Hughie made a half gesture at Butcher’s mark before he stopped himself. Hughie used to cover it up during job interviews, but keeping his head down also worked. Robin didn’t wear shorts. His dad wore long sleeves. Butcher didn’t wear gloves, but it was impossible to wear gloves all the time. It was just bad manners to stare at a person’s hands too long.

He was trying to get over the fact someone would leave their soulmark _open_ in such away that he didn’t react when she reached up and touched his face, caressing it. It was a jolt of ice water to his senses, which was strange, because he hadn’t had the same reaction to Butcher’s touch. Butcher didn’t react much to the touch, though. She probably wasn’t going to make a skin suit out of him.

He barely comprehended what Butcher said as he lead Hughie into the open room.

_Where there was a pile of guns._

It was a testament to the fact Hughie was largely nonviolent that it took him a few minutes to notice the man his soulmate was speaking too.

The woman had been flagrant, but this man was _indecent._

He wore no shirt and cut off jeans and he was wearing _soulmate_ marks. Hughie had seen them in his French and Spanish classes in high school, but he had never seen them in real life. The combination of cost and cultural reverence made to those marks made them rare in even a place like New York. According to the Electrician, they didn’t even teach about them in the more suburban neighborhoods.

There was a bird on his thigh. Its wings were spread out and each under feather was a different color. The ink shimmered in the light, catching the eye. And as the man turned towards Butcher, who was leaving Hughie on the other side of the table, Hughie saw a tattoo of a sun on the man’s neck. Hughie knew Anthoney had sat for hours to get the tattoo of his brother’s name on his back. This many colors at that size- that was some extraordinary patience and pain tolerance.

_Or a lot of devotion,_ Hughie thought absently.

Hughie felt an oddly familiar feeling of vertigo, like he was in _far far over his head._ The short man smiled, but it was not friendly.

He didn’t hear the words Butcher was saying. He wasn’t able to process sounds, it felt like. But he watched his soulmate as he talked with the _heavily armed man._ There was a bit of false cheer in Butcher’s movements, and the other man looked dangerous.

And angry.

Hughie watched the conversation continue, but he noticed something odd. At one point, Butcher’s shoulder’s lowered, his voice got softer and he got into the man’s face.

Hughie’s soulmate was the most dangerous man in that room. The other man didn’t flinch, didn’t backtrack, but that didn’t take away from the oppressive air of violence.

\---

Billy needed to solve this problem and he needed to solve this problem soon. Every part of him hurt and every muscle in his body was tense and wired.

_Translucent. Fucking Translucent._

Billy didn’t blame Hughie for the mess, this situation pretty much sat entirely on him. He knew what he was doing when he goaded Hughie into the Tower. He had looked into his eyes and seen the rage and helplessness and he had _understood._ That understanding made it easy to lie, easy to goad- and easy to touch. The feelings in Hughie’s eyes were the same ones Billy saw in his own eyes right after Becca disappeared and before he had found his purpose.

He could give Hughie the purpose to fight.

So he did.

It might have turned out alright if Translucent hadn’t gone after Hughie.

Billy had dropped Hughie off, content to let him go his own way. Hughie was young and grieving, there was nowhere for them to go as soulmates, not really. Only more back alley hookups and day drinking. Billy had taken a moment to imagine something different. He had thought about accepting Billy’s offer to help. He thought about having his soulmate where he could see him at all times, about feeding Hughie’s rage until he had a partner who was as devoted and driven as he was. A partner who just tore up forty-five thousand dollars for the sake of a soulmate who couldn’t care anymore. Billy would never “get over” Becca, but he wouldn’t need to get over her with Hughie.

He couldn’t do it though. Billy was a single man operation. Most of the time, the work was dangerous and Billy couldn’t babysit. He could accept the lack of backup for himself, but for a soulmate?

No.

He could work at his tech store and live his life.

So when Billy drove away, he promised himself he would only look once more at the camera he had planted in the store.

He was fucking glad he did.

Rage was an old, familiar friend. It coated his tongue and settled deep in his chest. He saw a kid, a twenty-five year old kid, who hadn’t raised his hand to a soul. Hughie had walked into strange places with him and trusted him and he was being _attacked._

Billy had a list of personality defects a mile wide, but he never doubted the fact he could protect his soulmates if violence was an option.

He hadn’t been able to avenge Becca, but he could damn well protect Hughie.

Whether that meant fist fighting a supe or murdering one, Billy wasn’t too picky.

Billy knew he was going to catch hell from Frenchie. The gun under his chin wasn’t a surprise. He had brought one of the most famous superheroes to the Frenchie’s door.

To where his soulmate lived.

The fact Frenchie had not pulled the trigger immediately was a testament to Frenchie’s friendship to him.

“Woah, Woah, Woah.” Billy internally winced as he heard Hughie panic in the background. Billy put a hand out beside him, motioning for him to get back. He could sense Hughie was about to do something stupid if Frenchie didn’t remove the gun, he was going to have to make it quick.

Frenchie’s eyes were narrowed, gaze shifting between Billy and Hughie. Frenchie started ranting about the danger, but Billy knew if he waited long enough, Frenchie would come to the right conclusion.

“You bring this to my doorstep?” Billy internally felt himself relax. “This is not my problem, huh?”

“Well, it is now. He knows what you look like.” Billy watched the realization cross Frenchie’s face. “Look, Frenchie, I need your help mate- and I ain’t leaving till I get it.

Billy saw the look of consideration Frenchie had, Frenchie could always outwait him, but he had another ace up his sleeve.

“Or, until the Seven show up.”

The panic and the fear that was chased by a look of resignation.

“I will grab some of my things.” Frenchie said. “And I need to tell Cherie to find a new place to stay. We can not keep him here.” Frenchie backed up and made strides back to the warehouse. Billy watched him go, eyes following him up the steps.

Then he turned to look at Hughie.

“No worries. Everyone’s fine.” Billy said, watching as Hughie’s hands clenched and unclenched, grabbing at air. He was surprised to see anger in the lines of Hughie’s shoulders. He expected and was counting on the numbness and fear, but _anger?_

Billy needed to consider that. Fear is easy when guns are in play. Anger? Anger could be useful.

Billy glanced about, looking to see if there was anyone about, anyone watching. Then he reached forward and pulled Hughie to him.The lad flinched before he fell into Butcher’s hold, using his hands to cup Billy’s face. His hands stroked the area where the gun was held. Hughie’s eyes were panicked. Billy started making the noises his mother would make when she needed to calm Lenny down. Billy cupped the back of Hughie’s head- pulling him into his shoulder. Billy knew no amount of talking would get a person over a scare like that. When your adrenaline is pumping like that, you’re totally dependent on what you can _feel._ Hughie needed to feel that Billy was alive. Billy would oblige.

Hughie had not calmed by the time Frenchie had come back, sack over his shoulder and keys that Billy knew would lead to a garage with a fully stocked van. Billy looked at Frenchie and jerked his chin. Billy watched Frenchie consider the scene before he nodded and raised two fingers. Frenchie would be considerate, but every moment Transluscent was in the area, meant Cherie was in more and more danger. Billy could respect that.

“I wasn’t in any danger.” Billy murmured. “I promise I wasn’t. Frenchie is just being a bit dramatic, is all.”

Billy knew Hughie didn’t believe him, but he felt Hughie take a large shuddering breath and lift his head. Billy waited, and watched Hughie’s emotions condense into a fog of indiffence once again.

Billy pushed him towards the car.

\---

Hughie knew how to stop the chip signal. That was a fucking relief, because it gave Frenchie a few more hours to work. While Frenchie was thinking, Billy thought about back up plans. It would be better if they could kill Translucent, but if worst came to worse, Billy needed to find a way to get Billy out of there

A lump grew in Billy’s throat the more he thought about it. His head pounded. There was no way Hughie could avoid the gaze of the Seven if Translucent survived. There was no second option, there was no pass go.

Billy flipped the table in the middle of the room. Hughie flinched.

Billy breathed in Hughie’s fear and clenched his teeth. Fear could be useful in the short-term, but _fuck him_ Hughie’s life depended on him staying near Butcher or Frenchie until, and maybe after, Translucent was killed. Billy knew the kind of panic he felt when Becca disappeared. The feeling that he would do _anything_ was paralyzing. Billy knew that if Becca had been kidnapped, Billy would have traded himself in a heartbeat. He would have done a thousand _stupid things,_ because his wife was at stake.

Billy hated the surety that he would be just as useless if they had Hughie.

Frenchie was smoking by the sink, unmoved by Billy’s rage. Billy straightened, walked over to Hughie and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Hughie didn’t flinch. That was good. Hughie leaned into Billy’s hand.

That was not good.

Billy tilted his head towards Frenchie, watching Hughie’s face as he discussed the best way to kill a supe with diamond skin.

Hughie’s eyebrows furrowed and his arms crossed.

“You’re going to kill him?” Hughie asked, looking stunned.

Not the brightest crayon in the box, but he was still a bit young and in shock.

Billy raised an eyebrow. “We didn’t bring him here for a fucking happy meal.”

Billy could see where Hughie was coming from, but Billy had been in the armed forces. Torture and questioning bought questionable results even when they had time.

And they didn’t have time.

“At Gitmo, we had to water board Khalid Sheikh Mohammed one hundred and eighty three times, over six months, just to get him to talk once.”

Billy watched as Hughie’s face spasmed, but Hughie’s eyes looked interested in the information.

“I doubt we have six hours.” Billy said, gently squeezing Hughie’s arm.

“There are so many crazy things about what you just said.” Billy heard Frenchie snort in the background. “but right now, you’re talking about randomly killing one of the most famous men on the _planet._ A goddamn national treasure.”

Billy internally sighed. He saw this with newbies all the time, but it was never any less frustrating to go over. Some people need to go over information a few times before they become resigned to the to-do list. Billy dropped his arm.

“I mean, people tend to notice that kind of thing.” Hughie said. Billy took a step back.

“And if we let him go, what do you think the Seven will do to us?” Billy hoped he kept the patronizing tone out of his voice, but he doubted he succeeded.

Hughie huffed, but Billy saw something in Hughie’s eyes he didn’t quite like. Appealing to Hughie’s self-preservation would do nothing here.

Billy had to play dirty.

He got up close, next to Hughie’s face, where his breath would hit Hughie’s mouth and tilted his neck slightly, where there was still a bit of a bruise from their meeting a few days ago. It was time to appeal to the soulmate.

“You can’t get A-Train if you’re a greasy smear on the pavement.” Billy said.

Hughie’s arms went up and gripped Billy’s shoulders, nails digging into his coat. Billy didn’t move.

“I am not a murderer.”

The rush of feelings Billy got with that statement were to complicated to untangle, so he kept to relevant facts.

“That’s all right..” Billy leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “I am.”

\---

Hughie didn’t collapse into a pure panic, like he had in the shop, but he could feel himself heading in that direction.

Hughie didn’t quite know what to do, he wandered about the restaurant until he found a glass- and then he prayed that the water would still be on. He was about to get some water when his phone pinged.

Twelve missed calls from his dad.

Shit.

Hughie did not want to deal with his father while he was about to be an accomplice to murder.

_“Hughie! Where have you been? I’ve been calling hospitals!”_

“I’m fine.” Hughie said, stretching the truth slightly. He had some impressive bruises and he had a bit of a head injury, but Butcher had assured him that he was probably not concussed. He was just going to be sore for a while.

He was only vaguely listening to his father panic over the phone when-

_“I saw this dateline on Human Trafficking….”_

“Dad, I haven’t been human trafficked-“

“Well, I called Sam, so you might need to-“

Hughie felt ice run through his veins. Sam should be on a bus south right now. She was the only one of Robin’s soulmates that Hughie was sure wasn’t going to sticking around.

“You did what?”

_“She has that phone tracker thing, remember? After that night at that club down on-“_

“Shit, dad. I’ll talk to you later.” Hughie wasn’t even sure if he hung up the phone correctly, shoving it into his pocket.

_Shit, Shit, Shit._

Hughie bounded towards the door, if he could get out there he would be able to stop her before-

A hand caught the back of his coat.

“Hughie, what the fuck do you think you’re doing, lad?” Butcher’s accent was soft compared to the ringing in Hughie’s head.

“Dad called someone to track me down, I need to-“Butcher pulled Hughie around to face him, gripping one of his arms. In his other hand was the biggest gun Hughie had seen in his life.

“What do you mean track you down?” Butcher’s eyes were concerned.

“She’s got one of those apps, listen I need to make sure she doesn’t come here-“

Butcher let out a breath. “Just turn the damn thing off, Hughie. Here, hand me your phone.”

Hughie dug into his pocket and handed Butcher his phone. He watched as he scrolled through the apps and pressed the screen a few times.

“Call her, tell her it was an invasion of privacy and to fuck off.” Butcher said. “And don’t give anyone else your location. What kind of crazy cunt asks for the location of their _soulmate’s soulmate_?”

“I dunno,” a voice said from the door of restaurant. “But I am interested in what kind of shady cunt hides in a rundown building with a A/V installer.”

Hughie winced, acid boiling in his stomach as he turned to the doorway.

_Oh good._ Hughie thought. _I am glad she brought a cattle prod to a gunfight._


	2. Cherry Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Butcher, Sam, and Hughie. No one is stable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for suicidal ideation and suicidal pacts. Sparky is slang for electrician.

Sam couldn’t remember a time she wasn’t in pain. She could remember there _was_ a time when she wasn’t in pain, but she can’t conjure the memories of the time. It was probably better that way, like how you are never warm in winter, and never cold in summer, so you forget whet it feels like. The memory is there, but it is not painful.

When Sam met the man whose words were written on her chest, she was twenty-three, a year away from her Master’s Degree and financially stable. When his words disappeared, she was twenty-six, graduated with no job, and over two hundred thousand dollars in debt to a section of the Italian mob in Queens.

Since then, Sam has never been quite sure if it was men she didn’t trust or if it was soulmarks, but being homeless in New York meant that she didn’t have a lot of energy to devote to psychoanalyzing herself. She got up in the mornings, took some Prozac, and then spent the rest of the day doing small jobs, trying to make enough money to chip away at the debt and still get her medicine.

It wasn’t enough, so when Robin died (soft hands rubbing her back as she detoxed, voice smiling as they discussed books and college, the smell of vanilla in the air) there was no reason to stay. Instead of paying on her debt, she bought a bus ticket. She planned to go south, where it was warm and relatively inexpensive. Her family was in the south, but they didn’t take up the entirety of it. 

She got sick in the bathroom, moments before she had to leave. There was nothing for her in New York. Queens was actively trying to kill her. Her breathing felt like it was being punched out of her and her chest felt tight. She didn’t have a lot in her stomach to spare, but she threw it all up anyway.

By the time she picked herself off of the grimy white floors and walked back to the bus- it was long gone. She looked up at the night sky, wishing for some stars, but only seeing the night lights, when the phone rang.

Her phone, a cracked thing that was about four years past its expiration, didn’t ring. It could vibrate, but its speakers had gone out during an unfortunate episode with a shower and a car battery. The electrician had been able to program it so the phone would vibrate at different frequencies depending on who called.

The four short buzzes followed by one long buzz let her know it was one of Robin’s people (Too many, a crowded funeral of too many tears. She wore shoes that pinched and grabbed a shower at Robin’s aunts. She let Robin’s grandmother play with her hair while they waited for the car to take them to the service. She was too numb to appreciate the food and the drinks afterwards, but it was probably the only good meal she had in years,) . Sam moved into an alley to answer the call.

_“Hello?”_ (The taste of pizza rolls and popcorn filled her mouth and she could feel her mouth fill with saliva.)

“Hugh?” Sam asked, leaning against a brick wall so her hands wouldn’t shake.

_“Thank God. Are you still in the state?”_ The tinny voice was high and reedy. Sam was not overly concerned. Hugh Campbell Sr. was a nervous man. (He had held the ladder or a flashlight every time she had come over to the apartment. He slipped twenty dollars into her bag, along with a bag of almonds. He would come up with more and more conversation topics until she agreed to sleep on the pull out couch.)

“Yeah, accidently missed my bus this morning. Is everything all right?” (Hughie hadn’t moved during the funeral. He was the only soulmate that hadn’t cried. He had been shell shocked, mouth thin, eye’s unblinking.)

“ _Is Hughie with you?”_

“No,” She adjusted her grip on the phone so she wasn’t poked by the broken edges of the screen. “Is he missing?”

_“Someone ran a car through the window of the store last night. Hughie is nowhere to be found and there was a lot of blood at the scene.”_ (Sam could see the shop in her mind and could taste the blood in the air. Her heartbeat sped up as she considered possibilities. Start with the basics.)

“Have they checked the cameras? It’s a damn A/V store, surely they have security.”

_“They won’t let me see it. They’re just telling me he’s missing.”_ Hugh’s voice was deeply worried, cracking at random moments. _“I saw this dateline on human trafficking-“_

“If his phone is still with him, I can track him.” Sam said. As long as he wasn’t in Queen’s, she could find him.

_“I forgot about the incident at the club. You need to show me how to do that.“_

“I’ll show you how to do it after I find Hughie, alright?” Sam shifted, legs going numb. “I’ll call you once I find him, yeah?”

“ _Good, Good, yeah.”_

“Call me if he comes home, yeah? I don’t want to be looking for him if he’s at home sleeping off a hangover.”

_“I will. I’m going to call some hospitals.”_

“Sure, Sure. Talk to you later.” Sam pressed her head against the brick wall. Her head _hurt._ Her shoes were worn at the sides and her jacket had more holes than swiss cheese. (She didn’t need to do everything at once, one step at a time.) She wandered a bit, until she found an open wifi network from a small bar. She huddled next to the wall as she opened her tracking app. After the incident in the club, Sam made sure to keep track of all of Robin’s soulmates. There probably wasn’t a need for it anymore, but she couldn’t quite make herself delete the app.

“Hughie, Hughie, Hughie,” She murmured to herself. “Where the fuck are you.” She had to adjust the screen several times so she could locate him through the cracks in her screen.

_Jersey City._

Damn it, Hughie. She thought, shoving the phone in her pocket. She had a long walk in front of her, and she had to jump the subway afterwards. She was cold and tired and she hadn’t slept well since Robin died. She should probably just go find a place to sleep before she tried to track Hughie down.

(But she remembered how happy Robin was when she looked up different apartments with her, pointing out the different places she could set up with Hughie. It was going to be a surprise. The way Robin’s eyes would shine when he watched him talking about Billy Joel (who Robin hated) and the way his hands would intertwine with Robin’s hands as they walked down the street. Sam could taste Malboro’s on her tongue.)

Damn it, Robin. Sam thought.

\---

_This,_ Billy thought, _was a problem._

He recognized her, of course. The Sparky from that bruhaha six or seven years age. Her blond hair had brown roots, now. Her face was a bit gaunter, there were deep wrinkles around her eyes. Her mouth, which had once looked like it was always smiling, now looked like the action was unfamiliar to her. She was still tall, her back was straight, but she looked-

_She looked less. And isn’t that a shitty way to think about a soulmate._

She didn’t look angry though. She just looked _resigned._ Billy resisted the urge to seek out any more information. The electrician couldn’t stay here. (She needed a good meal and a better coat. Her shoes, damn. Last time he had seen her she was wearing steel toed boots and now she was wearing worn through sneakers.) And, seeing as Hughie didn’t seem the type to let someone go hungry, not the type that would accept charity. The Sparky had been royally fucked from the looks of it, and Billy was not going to let her go down the same route as Hughie and him if he could help it.

Hughie, however, looked panicked. He was pushing himself between the two of them.

_Why was he doing that?_ Billy took a moment to wonder before the reality of the situation came slamming back into him. He laid the gun down on the floor, holding up his hands. He didn’t mean anyone here any harm and this situation needed to be resolved quickly, with minimum fuss. Since the Sparky looked like a stiff wind could blow her over, Billy didn’t think that would be too difficult.

It was good that he had an ace up his sleeve. She had said his words, but he hadn’t said a damn word to her. If they were mutual soulmates, seventy-five percent chance, that, then all he had to do was say some words and he would have a few seconds to disarm her. And, in the slight chance it came down to it, it would probably make sure she wouldn’t try and kill him.

“Easy love, there is no need to get violent.” Billy said.

Worked like a charm. Her finger slid from the button and the cattle prod wavered in the air. Billy lurched forward and grabbed the cattle prod and tossed it aside. He didn’t touch her, but put his hands back up and tried to herd her backwards. She didn’t move.

“Take one more step towards me and _I will_ punch you.” His soulmate said, voice determined, if not a little monotone.

Billy stopped for a moment and put his hands down. Without looking behind him, he called out to Hughie.

“Lad, could you tell the Sparky that I am not about to do _whatever_ she thinks I am about to do.”

There was a beat of silence.

And another.

The silence lasted long enough to get awkward when Hughie spoke.

“I thought you were on your way to Florida.” Hughie said. His voice cracked in the middle.

_Was he scared of her?_ Billy thought, glancing at him. Hughie was nervous, sure. He wasn’t cowering though. He looked like-

_Ah._ Billy resisted the urge to laugh. Hughie looked like a kid whose mom had caught him with his hand in the cookie tin. She wasn’t a threat to Hughie. Billy felt something in him relax a bit.

“I missed my bus.” The voice was back to monotone again. “Good thing, too. I don’t know who your dad would have called after me. You need to call him before we leave. He’s a bit panicked.” Her eyes didn’t really meet Billy’s or Hughie’s , just sort of stared into nothing.

“I’m fine here.” Hughie said, though not particularly convincingly. “Look, I’ve already talked to my dad. You don’t need to worry about me. Do you need money for another bus ticket?”

That got a reaction from her. Her eyes looked _hungry_ for half a second, before the hunger turned into a _deep_ rage. She didn’t take kindly to bribery then, _Noted._ Billy could almost _feel_ the regret coming off Hughie. He had cocked it up and he knew it.

“Hughie.” Sam’s voice turned pleasant. “What the fuck is going on?” She pulled out her phone. It was an old cracked thing. Pieces of the screen had completely fallen off and there was electrical tape wrapped around the top and bottom of the phone. “If you don’t give me a good answer, right now, I am calling the police.”

Billy knew that she probably couldn’t dial quickly with that phone, but he couldn’t take any chances. He snatched the phone out of her hand and threw it against the wall.

There wasn’t much phone left to shatter, but the phone came apart, pieces only held together by tape.

Billy had no idea what hit him.

Sam had leapt towards him, hand stretched out into a claw, as she tried to scratch his eyes out. Billy was able to duck and grab her hands, holding them together as she struggled. Then her eyes went into slits as she smiled.

It was a very pretty smile.

It also preceded a knee to his balls.

\----

“She wasn’t actually going to call the police.” Hughie said quietly. Butcher and him were sitting down in the kitchen as Frenchie acted like a mad genius, jumping from one part of the kitchen to another. Hughie wasn‘t quite sure what to call it. Sam was handcuffed across the room from them, watching the Frenchman bounce about like his activities made sense to her.

Butcher raised an eyebrow, which Hughie understood to mean, “You know this how?”.

“First off,” Hughie said. “She doesn’t _like_ the police. As in, wouldn’t spit on them if they were on fire, dislike. Robin once had to pick her up from a precinct because she had accidently fallen asleep on a bench- which I understand was the latest in a long line of offenses. Secondly, you are _actually_ her soulmate. She would give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Butcher looked, Hughie couldn’t quite figure out the right descriptor. Guilty? Startled? Unsurprised? Resigned? All of them at once? Hughie had no idea. What Hughie could see, through the glasses of hindsight, was Butcher considering whether or not to lie to Hughie again.

“Please don’t lie to me again.” Hughie said, still keeping his voice down. “Robin told me we probably share a few soulmates- or we know people with remarkably similar handwriting. Also, you have been rubbing at your shoulder for the past hour. I am pretty sure she kicked you in the balls.” Hughie tried for a smile, but felt it fade into nothing.

“Lad,” Butcher said, putting on a mildly inconvenienced tone. “If you haven’t noticed, we have a bit more to worry about than your soulmate’s soulmate’s feelings. I don’t have the time to let her feel me up in an alley.”

That hit a little below the belt. But then again, Hughie was slowly starting to understand that Butcher didn’t have a lot of lines he wouldn’t cross. “You should at least talk to her.” Hughie ignored Butcher’s point, operating under the assumption that there wasn’t much they could actually do while Frenchie was doing….. _whatever_ he was doing.

Butcher scratched his beard for a moment.

“Translucent hasn’t seen her.” Butcher said. “Could she keep her mouth shut?”

Hughie nodded. He remembered Robin curled around her phone on a winter’s night asking where Sam was and if she had a place to sleep- and getting no answer. Hughie conjured the memory of Sam covered in ash and oil and shaking as Robin helped her into the shower, water sluicing away the dirt that covered her soulmate marks. The way her lips would thin as Robin asked if she needed medical attention. He remembered that night at the club, when he and Robin had been held and Sam had come to get them out. How she cradled her jaw for days afterwards and brushed her teeth until her gums bled.

“Yeah, keeping her mouth shut isn’t a real problem with her.” Hughie said.

“So, if I dropped her off somewhere, she wouldn’t go directly to the police or the Seven?” Butcher asked. He was rubbing his shoulder again, like it pained him.

“Where would you drop her off?” Hughie asked.

“Where does she normally stay?” Butcher replied and Hughie looked at him like he was an idiot.

While she wasn’t wearing her backpack (which she probably stashed somewhere) Hughie didn’t know how much more obvious it could be that she was homeless. Her shoes were worn through, her hair was stringy, her nails filthy. She wore three layers of clothes- even though it was relatively warm.

Butcher sighed and looked over at her. She had her head back against the sink, with her eyes closed.

“Is there a shelter, or-“

Hughie shook his head. “I don’t know why, but she can’t go to a lot of the shelters, even if there wasn’t a long ass line to get in. I would say she could stay with my dad, except she-“

“Would just hop right back over here.” Sam’s voice rasped out from across the room. Frenchie, who had headphones on, did not pause from his work. “Do you think you have the time to switch hiding spots?”

“Bit academic, innit?” Billy said. “Either he’ll be dead or we’ll be dead by that point.”

Hughie felt the muscles in Billy’s thighs bunch and relax and his arms tremble. He could hear his teeth _grind._ However unconcerned Billy seemed about Sam, Hughie was almost completely sure it was an act.

“How were you able to capture him?” Sam twisted her neck a bit, trying to make it crack.

“Hughie stuck him a cable.” Billy said, voice cautious. Sam tilted her head in the other direction and Hughie heard her neck pop.

“Why did you capture him?” Sam asked, pulling on her handcuff to pull herself up into a better sitting position.

“He was attacking Hughie.” Butcher said.

Sam took a deep breath in through her nose and looked at Hughie.

Hughie didn’t like having the full breadth of Sam’s attention on him. It was uncomfortable. She didn’t look at a person like they were scum or like she was mentally undressing them or anything like that. Sam looking at Hughie made Hughie deal with whatever emotion Sam was feeling. Sam’s eyes told Hughie if she was upset or hungry or happy or disappointed or interested. It was too much information, too much _intimacy,_ for a person to be sharing with the public.

And right then, Sam looked _exhausted._ She looked like she was just waiting for someone to kill her. Robin, when she was alive, used to cry sometimes, after Sam would visit and Hughie had never understood why until the moment Sam looked him in the eye across from a dirty kitchen in Jersey City.

Hughie felt something burning in his chest. The anger and the fear had given way to the _deep_ feeling of grief that seemed to overwhelm him. Sam was a part of Robin’s _soul._ Sam wasn’t a leech or an unwelcome burden, she was an _integral part_ of what had made Robin, Robin. She had come over late at night to help tutor Robin. She had helped Robin fill out scholarship applications and had shown her how to file her taxes. She had driven Robin to the hospital when her appendix burst. She had also rescued Robin’s credit score (somehow) when one of Robin’s other soulmates had tried to commit identity fraud. She had made Robin laugh and had come to find Hughie with a cattle prod….

And Hughie hadn’t cared. A part of Robin was exhausted, dead on her feet- he didn’t know if she had eaten recently- and he- hadn’t- cared. It felt like he had swallowed fire. He felt tears rise and his throat close up for a moment.

So Hughie started talking. He told her about going to Seven Tower and the bug and Translucent coming after him at work.

Sam sat quietly for the story then let her head hit the sink with a _thud._ She didn’t say anything after that. She just swallowed and nodded. Butcher was looking at him oddly.

“What?” Hughie asked.

“An invisible supe comes at you with a flatscreen and I’m an uber driver, but this one can just look at you and you spill the beans?”

Hughie shrugged, suddenly embarrassed.

Luckily, that was when Frenchie finished up the round.

\----

They were out of options. Sam had seen desperation in men’s eyes before. (She remembers cleaning up blood while it was still pouring out of them. The smell of bleach stinging her eyes as she tried to pretend that the man sitting in the chair wasn’t one of the living dead.). Frenchie, the man with the goggles and the _beautiful_ understanding of chemistry, was hunched over the table, cradling a phone as he called, who Sam assumed, were his soulmates. Her soulmate was talking in low tones to Hughie.

They touched each other like it was necessary for breath. It was like one of those Regency novels. Sam, pre-addiction and who had less than half as much debt (all of which was owed to accredited organizations) would have found it unbearably sweet. Current Sam, who couldn’t afford a cup of coffee, let alone a new phone, found it plain unbearable. Sam remembered those days, though. Her first soulmate (who was no longer her soulmate) would take the back of his hand and caress her arm down to her hand, before taking her hand and running his thumb down each of her metacarpal bones. It was his catch all for winning an argument. There was nothing more calming to Sam, than that touch from her soulmate. (She didn’t let Robin touch her for three years and even that was accidental.)

Sam was never quite sure what to think of Hughie, but she knew Robin had wanted them to get along. Hughie had always seemed vaguely polite, but he also seemed a little creeped out by her. (Awkward glances, fidgeting hands, and he stutters as he tries to make conversation for the first year. ). Which, you know, was offensive and didn’t help the development of a decent relationship. Sam thought it was particularly offensive now that she saw their _other_ mutual soulmate.

The beard and the awful clothes couldn’t hide the good boots and the fact he was carrying. He had powder burns on his hands, bruises on his knuckles, and he _was not sweating._ The Frenchman and Hughie had a sheen of sweat on them, but the _soulmate_? His hands and face were mostly dry. He was _exactly_ the type of person she would have warned Robin to stay away from. It didn’t help that Hughie looked like he had been badly used. If it was Robin….

It wasn’t Robin, though. It was Hughie. Hughie who looked like he had been jolted out of whatever numbness he had and was now standing on a tightrope between fear and rage. Robin didn’t matter anymore, really. She was dead. Hughie and Sam and the soulmate and the Frenchman were dead too. They were walking and talking, but they were dead. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t wake up when the Seven came.

Then she felt a hand on her cheek. It was _electrifying._ The bumps and callouses, all the normal parts of human hands, pressed against her cheeks in _just_ the correct way to set her nerves on fire. The warmth overwhelmed her for a moment. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been truly _warm._ She was about to die and this was a comfort unlooked for and so _very, very_ needed.

“Please don’t touch me.” Sam said, trying to keep her voice level as she opened her eyes to look into her soulmate’s eyes. The hand trembled for a moment before dropping.

“Translucent hasn’t seen you.” Her soulmate said, voice rough. “We need to get you out of here.”

Sam felt the handcuff on her wrist tugging as she tried to sit up straighter. She would have pushed him back if it wouldn’t have sent them both into another spiral.

“I don’t leave unless Hughie does.” Sam said. “If I have to face my best friend in the afterlife, I am not going to tell her I let her boyfriend spiral into a violent death alone.”

A huff of air was blown on her cheekbone as her soulmate reached up and unlocked the handcuff. She could almost taste the coffee on his breath.

She didn’t like the look in her soulmate’s eyes as he looked at her. It was too accessing, Sam took a moment to watch the tumblers in his mind click together before he put on a _fake ass smile_ and said,

“Got an idea. Long shot, but it might help. You’re coming with me.” He stood and offered his hand. Sam looked at him and remained sitting. They stared at each other for a moment. Sam had to break eye contact first. She looked away staring at the freezer door.

He reached down and wrapped a hand around her bicep. That was the wrong move.

Sam’s leg _jerked,_ hitting Butcher in the shin. It wouldn’t have been enough force to take him down if he was fully standing, but crouching as he was, it put him on his face. His hand left her bicep and Sam felt like she could breathe again. His words, which she had worn all her life, went _icy_ cold.

“I asked you to not touch me.” Sam watched as her soulmate stood up and saw a dark rage in his face. His chest was heaving. Sam could suddenly taste gasoline in the air. She would have been frightened, but she _had_ met people who was regularly violent with women and she knew her soulmate was not one of them. He hadn’t been pushed that far. He was close, though. He wouldn’t be violent out of anger. He would do it _for her._ He was one of the bastards who would think the ends justified the means. If it saved her life, he would do it. He would knock her out and leave her somewhere. Sam was pretty sure he would put cash in her pocket as well. Sam considered that for a moment.

Then she jumped up and stuck her face in the freezer window.

\-----

Billy could not describe his rage. No wonder his words would disappear. He was going to get both of his remaining soulmates killed at once. A voice in the back of his head pointed out that they were throwing themselves into danger and both of them may be suicidal. Billy couldn’t think about that, though. Billy didn’t know what to do. He had hesitated, he had fucking hesitated, he shouldn’t have done that. The moment that bullet ricocheted instead of killing Translucent, he should have knocked out the Sparky (Sam, her name was Sam) and went to drop her off with MM. He couldn’t save Hughie. He couldn’t have saved Hughie from the beginning. Hughie was on the edge of doing something stupid since the moment Robin had died. He could have saved _her_ though.

_Becca, what the fuck do I do?_ Billy asked the empty air, like he always did. Becca’s words smarted and stung in his skin. He felt like such a cunt, asking the bleeding air.

“Frenchie, I’ll be back.” He didn’t address anyone else in the room. He couldn’t look at either of them. He just left, feeling his will solidify. He would just have to get them out. All he had to do was kill one supe. A supe that had to have a weakness.

The Mallory files would be the best, he thought as he climbed into his car. He would have to go to Raynor. Fuck it.

Raynor curled her letters the same way letters used to curl around his thigh. She signed her name with the same slant and her voice rounded out words in a phrase like the mark used too. That mark had left him years ago and he was never quite sure Raynor had ever had one that corresponded- not with the way she would look at him sometimes- as if he was the worst thing to ever exist. Billy, for all he had ignored two soulmates and failed all of them, couldn’t imagine hating any of them. He couldn’t really see Raynor as a psycho who would hate someone for it either. Her hatred was too intense, her dislike too obvious.

It made the sex fantastic, but the taste of her would curdle in his mouth like gone off cream. The last time they had fucked they had been at her wedding. He had held her hair back while she puked, then gave her a mint, an orgasm, and her underwear. Then she went to go get married to a fucking prick whose idea of a good time was to torture fish for his own amusement.

Fucker.

Her alarm code changed every three days, but she would have an override that would have the Tom Petty’s birthday somewhere in there.

He got it in three tries, went in, and set the alarm off.

For all the history between them Raynor was still a fucking cunt. She didn’t hold back anything but her distain, which she let drip off her tongue like poisoned honey. It came to a boiling point when-

“Susan, I’ve got two soulmates on the line right now-“

“You fucking shouldn’t have dragged them into this mess-“

Billy took her by the throat and shoved her against the wall. Then he leaned down and whispered in her ear.

“I don’t give a fuck about what you do to me, Susan. I’m a cunt and I know I am a cunt. But if my soulmates die because you were being a petty bitch and I happen to live, you best believe you will be one of the first people I call on, after I fuck your husband with a knife, eh?”

“You really did find some more of your soulmates then, huh?” Raynor said. She had her hand wrapped around his wrist and her heel in his instep. Her heartbeat was steady in his ear. Butcher tightened his grip slightly. Her heartbeat didn’t change.

“Two of them.” She looked completive for a moment. “I can’t get you the files in any sort of time. We’ve got too many rats running about.”

Billy released her. “Whadda mean, rats?”

“Any other files, sure.” Mallory said. “But the director would know the second I opened the Mallory files and the resulting chaos would make its way down the ladder within minutes.”

“And back to Vought.” Billy said. “Fuck.” It wouldn’t do any good.

_Fuck._

_\----_

“It’s a bad idea.” Sam said. She didn’t have a handcuff on anymore. It dangled from her wrist like a BDSM accessory. Hughie tried not to think what that meant for Sam and Butcher’s future relationship, but he could _almost_ hear Robin’s ghost speculating in the background. Not every soulmate pairing was romantic, but Hughie could almost taste the tension in the air when Butcher touched her skin.

Hughie would like to think he was being ridiculous, but he did _actually_ know what Butcher looked like when he was horny. Hughie and Sam might need to work out a schedule. He wasn’t _quite_ sure if he could have a threesome with Sam included. She was just a bit.

Intimidating.

“Yeah, well.” Hughie replied back to Sam, “Do you have a better idea?”

“We could wait for our death without having to deal with whatever shit the supe is going to pour on us.” Sam’s voice was sarcastic, but well meaning.

“Ah, yes, but the question is, _can_ he fuck us up anymore than we already are.” Hughie brought up this point like it was reasonable. Maybe, in this sort of life, it was.

“True enough.” Sam sighed. She started cracking her knuckles, which made Hughie glare at her. He hated that sound. Frenchie and her had been talking since Butcher left, some sort of conversation about electrical currents and energy distribution and Hughie hadn’t really cared. But when Frenchie went upstairs, Sam had stayed with Hughie.

It actually made Hughie feel, if not good, pleased. Sam seemed to get along with about everyone, even his dad, without trying. Butcher was the first person, other than Hughie himself, that she did not immediately take too. The fact she stayed with him made him feel like he had her approval (and maybe Robin’s).

Sam stepped behind the door with the cattle prod (Hughie had given it back to her after Butcher left. She was unlikely to use it on anyone but Butcher and Translucent.)

It took a few false starts, but he got Translucent to start talking. Sam was right, there was some major mindfuckery in what Translucent said. But in the end, one of them was in an electric cage with two psychos planning their murder and the other one of them could actually leave.

“What do you think?” Hughie asked Sam.

“He’s overconfident.” Sam said. Her fingers were tapping on the metal table. “And he’s an ass. Being a voyeur doesn’t mean shit when it comes to knowing who someone _is._ ”

“How do you know who someone is, then?” Hughie asked, curious as to what their answer would be.

“What they choose.” Sam said, but didn’t elaborate. She liked to mindfuck him, though. It was probably how she knew what Translucent was going to do.

_Murder, though._ Hughie thought, finding a place to sit and think. That _is_ what they were doing. Hughie was sitting and talking with people who were actively seeking to kill someone. Translucent wasn’t attacking them. He was a _threat._ He had tried to kill Hughie.

Shit, a superhero had tried to kill him. He hadn’t even really thought about that. He had been scared shitless, of course. He hadn’t really thought of himself as a hero or a villain in this story. He had planted a bug, a superhero had tried to kill him, he had helped his soulmate kidnap him.

_Soulmates._ Hughie looked up to see that stupid sign.

KEEP YOUR HANDS CLEAN.

Sam was playing with the handcuff on her wrist.

KEEP YOUR HANDS CLEAN.

_Robin deserves justice._ Hughie thought. He was sure of that . But would he be able to dirty his hands to get Robin that justice? He didn’t know.

KEEP YOUR HANDS CLEAN.

Butcher was right, though, that he didn’t even think of giving Butcher up to Translucent. He couldn’t put Butcher in danger with his life on the line. He doubted he could do it if someone else’s life was on the line.

KEEP YOUR HANDS CLEAN.

_Yeah._ Hughie thought to himself. _I could do it._

_\----_

“Vous effrayez l’instable.” Sam said as Frenchie burst back into the room, angrily throwing shit about. The drill hadn't worked. It was one in a long line of failures. 

Frenchie glared at her, but she let it roll off of her back. This was a stressful situation and tempers were high. She did _like_ Frenchie, though. He took one look at her and offered her drugs, free of charge. Three hours ago she would have accepted.

He was also an extraordinary chemist. She was enjoying watching him work. All of his ideas would have been difficult to reproduce in a lab. Half of her graduating class would have refused to even try in conditions like these.

_Rich Bastards._

But Frenchie, he was competent, focused, and he didn’t make mistakes.

Also he was the first person she was able to have an intellectual conversation with in over three years.

“What is this?” Hughie asked, looking at the pill like it was poison.

_Only if we were so lucky._ Sam thought. She had asked Frenchie about some of the contents of his bag, and she knew he had enough morphine to kill a man. She would like to think she wasn’t contemplating what she was contemplating, but she knew she was.

If the Seven appeared, if Homelander appeared, Sam could do one last thing for Robin. She could give Hughie a clean death. Frenchie had already filled the needle for her. Robin ignored the rest of the conversation between Frenchie and Hughie when she caught the smell of weed.

She couldn’t stand it. She went to the top of the stairs and sat down so her legs went across the stairwell. She hadn’t sat down for more than a minute when her soulmate appeared. The circles under his eyes were large and his hands, Sam was sure, wanted to shake like hers.

“Sparky.” He said, casually, like it was everyday that they were holed up in an abandoned restaurant waiting for death. She looked up at him and squinted, the light of the downstairs only vaguely allowing her to see. It had been years since she had been able to afford glasses. He sat her backpack next to her and she nodded. She hadn’t wanted to leave the restaurant to go get it. He leaned against the doorframe, looking down at the stairs.

“Any luck?” Sam asked. Her voice, to her surprise, was mellowing. It had been years since she had felt relaxed enough for her accent to come through.

Her soulmate tilted his head towards her, eyes shining in the dark.

“None whatsoever.” He said, casually.

“Fuck.” Sam said, but with no real force behind it. She wished she had something to do with her hands. 

“Bought sums it up, yeah.” He said.

Sam looked up at him for a moment. She didn’t really have anything to lose if she asked him and they were going to die anyway.

“Frenchie has enough heroin set aside for Hughie.” Sam said, looking at him. He didn’t flinch. “I can take care of him, but do you think you could take care of me?” Sam watched as her soulmate went still. Nothing was clenched; nothing was relaxed.

“I’ll make sure you don’t feel nothing.” Her soulmate finally said. “But don’t-“

He paused. “Don’t worry about it quite yet, yeah? Wait for me to give the signal.” He crouched down next to her and put his face close to hers.

“I need you to _promise._ You don’t do anything until I tell you.” There was a long tremble up and down his arms now. He reached forward to touch her, but she flinched away for a moment. He drew his hand back. They sat looking at each other for a moment. 

“Yeah.” Sam said. “Do you have a cigarette?”

The next hour passed in a bit of a haze. She and Butcher passed a cigarette between them, saying nothing until there was only a butt. Then they finally went downstairs. Her soulmate didn’t help her up and she was glad he didn’t even try.

She was getting dizzy, though. She didn’t remember the last time she had slept a solid hour and she hadn’t eaten anything substantial. Her vision around the edges was slightly black, but she caught herself just before she blacked out. Her soulmate didn’t seem to notice.

Sam had waited for death before. She had been waiting for death since that fire in Queens. It would be nice for everything to be over.

\-----

Billy was pretty sure he didn’t breathe after Sparky’s request until he saw Frenchie’s wide eyes, pupil’s dilated, in the light of a cattle prod.

He felt a visceral euphoric satisfaction when he understood what Frenchie was going to do. The taste of blood filled his mouth and he had to keep himself from celebrating too soon. But he could start making alternate plans.

As Sparky and Hughie helped pull Translucent into the correct position for Frenchie, Billy started making contingencies. He needed to get them out of there and fast. He, halfway, wanted to bring both of them to his place- but he knew that wouldn’t be enough to keep them safe, not really. He would put them with Frenchie and Cherie, except he wasn’t completely sold on dealing with either of them strung out of their minds.

He needed to figure out what to do soon, though. He would only have a small amount of time to leverage Hughie and Sparky into doing what he asked.

Still, future problems didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the satisfaction of gloating to one of the Seven that they were about to die. The cunt had been gloating while he and Frenchie and Sparky and Hughie had sat waiting to die. Billy only wished he could draw out the understanding, the primal fear that came with knowing you were going to die. He had feared for the lives of his soulmates. He watched shadows gather under their eyes and their hands shake and he had to make a fucking suicide pact. Vindictive did not begin to cover it. Still he needed to get it over with quickly.

When Homelander appeared, Billy felt a sort of doom fall over him. He looked at Sparky and Hughie and knew he couldn’t hesitate this time. He reached for Sparky’s wrist where the handcuff dangled and quickly attached her to one of the sinks. Then he pressed the kill switch into Hughie’s hand, leaning forward to press his mouth against Hughie’s. He ended the kiss before Hughie responded- then he raced after Frenchie.

He considered kissing Sparky as well, but looking at her, he knew she would not find the gesture as fond as he did.

\---

KEEP YOUR HANDS CLEAN.

Hughie was halfway to Sam, intending to release her, when Translucent walked out of the cage. Hughie tried to reason with the Supe, who was so sure that _Hughie_ cared if he lived or died at that point. Hughie had three soulmates. One of them was dead and one of them was alive. He wasn’t going to let a damn supe take down his living soulmate. Outside of that, he wasn’t going to let Translucent kill the man who had given him a reason _not_ to die. He wasn’t going to let the Seven get near _any_ of Robin’s other soulmates.

KEEP YOUR HANDS CLEAN.

He wasn’t going to hesitate.

KEEP YOUR HANDS CLEAN.

Translucent walked towards the stairs, sure as could be. Then he started to disappear, as Hughie knew he would.

KEEP YOUR HANDS CLEAN.

He had to trust that Butcher could get Homelander out of the way. He wouldn’t hesitate, but he would give him as much time as he could.

KEEP YOUR HANDS CLEAN.

Hughie pressed the button.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck this episode with a rusty spork. This took far too long. I apparently DID NOT divide the episode correctly, this chapter is twice as long as the last one. Together this one episode may have more words that the first work in the series. The next chapter, I believe, will go between MM and Frenchie's point of view and focus on that relationship. It should be fun.


	3. Get Some Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frenchie and M.M. POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if it is in the show, it can show up in the fic.   
> The first several episodes are going to stay the same, just with extra information and world building. Then it is going to slowly shift course. So, whatever you recognize from the show, it was written by someone else, yeah?

This was not the first time Frenchie had dealt in the exploded remains of a body, nor would it be the last. However, it had been _many many_ years since he had felt so _uncomfortable_ while dealing with a person’s remains.

To be fair, Frenchie thought, as he ran his shovel across the floor to find invisible body parts, it had nothing to do with the carrion and more to do with the people around him.

“Look, we can’t exactly leave this place standing.” Monsieur Charcutier was trying to explain why it was useless to worry about the blood splatter to one of his soulmates, while she washed _his other soulmate’s_ hair (C’est ridicule). Her long fingers running through petite Hughie’s hair ever so gently. Frenchie was unsure if Hughie and Sam were soulmates, but Sam seemed to regard him with some sort of fondness

Frenchie was interested in this situation. It had all the markings of a disaster in the making. He, Jay, and Cherie had been tightly knit, but free to move about as they will, knowing Frenchie would get them out of trouble. Butcher, M.M., and himself had been _driven._ Each of them looking out for each other, yes, but all of them were pushing eachother as well. M.M., Frenchie could admit in the privacy of his own head, probably took on more responsibility than he should have.

These three, however, Frenchie did not know how their dynamic would work out. Monsieur Charcutier and petite Hughie were like magnets, drawn to each other by some force. It was beautiful. Frenchie did not know if he had ever thought Butcher’s eyes could be so soft, his hands so gentle. Frenchie wanted so much to have someone draw them, to keep the beauty of the moment when Butcher saw Hughie covered in blood. They had been lost in their own little world, hands frantically checking each other for injury. Butcher’s arms went around Hughie, pressing him against Butcher’s chest as Hughie murmured something Frenchie could not hear.

Sam, though, Sam was making the entire room unbearable. It was not because she was unpleasant, quite the opposite. She had removed the top two layers of her clothes, blood had soaked through the fabric. She stood in tight jeans and a loose undershirt, soaked with water as she washed Hughie’s hair. She was magnificent, lines of muscle and a soft layer of fat on top of it. She had lost some of her nervous edge and her shoulders were relaxed. The curve of her made smooth lines, like a waterfall. Frenchie would have hived her off to a private corner by now, acquainted himself with her, like he and Cherie had done all those years ago. And, if she needed comfort, Frenchie would have held her, assured her that she was alive and well, as was he. He would have run his fingers over her face, traced the cheekbones and eyebrows until Sam lost all sense of tension. He was more than a little tempted to do it anyway.

But she would not let Butcher touch her and that gave Frenchie pause. A thick, invisible wall stood between them, and Butcher dared not breach it. Frenchie inwardly felt oddly vindictive about that, remembering how little sympathy Butcher had when he had first met MM. The wound was no longer as raw as it used to be, but the bruise still ached when he pressed on it. Frenchie was _of course_ going to interfere. Sam seemed to be intelligent, they had a few excellent discussions on magnetic forces and electrical circuits. Moreover, Frenchie thought, Sam was not cruel. Even M.M. when he rejected Frenchie, made sure to put a hand on his shoulder, to hug him, and on one memorable occasion, press his forehead against Frenchie’s own. Frenchie resolved to speak to her, when he could get her alone.

Sam looked away as Hughie got changed into cleaner clothes, but did not draw attention to it. Perhaps, Frenchie thought, she is unused to men? It would explain a great many things if that were the case. Frenchie, as was his habit, started rubbing the back of his neck as he thought. M.M. was an organized thinker, and rubbing at the tattoo made it easier to think in an organized manner.

Or create an imaginary argument. Frenchie internally snorted. He almost jumped when he saw Hughie standing about holding his clothes. He smiled and took the bloody rags from him, smiling, but the boy did not respond.

Poor boy. Frenchie had not been much better after his first murder. At least Hughie had Butcher. They were never going to get the room cleaned up if Butcher kept putting down his shovel to hold Hughie. He glanced over at Sam, who looked dead inside. The woman did not have many facial expressions. She was not even an ice queen, because then she would at least look indifferent. She did, however, move to pick up the shovel and start helping gather the remains of Translucent while Butcher tried to coax some feeling into Hughie. Butcher ran his hands up and down Hughie’s arms, the white coat bunching under his touch. Hughie did not really respond. He just looked like he was going more and more into shock.

Frenchie would have blinked and missed it, but a shudder ran through Hughie’s body and he jerked himself away. Frenchie, after years of experience, could read Butcher’s face. Butcher was wounded to the core, but trying to not take it personally.

“I need to go get some clothes.” Hughie said, stuttering. He started walking towards the door, but Butcher grabbed his arms and turned him about. Butcher let go almost immediately after Hughie turned.

“We will get you some clothes.” Butcher said, voice level and reasonable.

Hughie looked about the room for a second, chest stuttering. “I’m sorry about the-“

“Now, Now,” Butcher said, rolling with the unexpected subject change. “You’ve done us a favor. All you need to do is sit down and relax for a bit, eh?”

Butcher reached up a hand to cup Hughie’s cheek, but Hughie flinched away.

“I still want to go get clothes.” Hughie said.

“I’ll go right now and get you some.” Butcher said, only to have Hughie shake his head.

“I want my clothes.” Hughie said. “I’ll be right back.”

Frenchie was interested in how this would play out. Butcher was, at heart, a provider. If there was a need to be had, Butcher would provide. Most would think Butcher was a _protector_ , but no, he was a _provider._

Frenchie knew this because Butcher had smuggled him drugs while he was under government supervision. Butcher gave a smile and said he needed Frenchie at his best, but Frenchie was honest enough to know being clean would have been better protection for him and the crew than getting high. Frenchie knew this because Butcher allowed MM to take dangerous assignments and fly by the seat of his pants so MM could get back to Monique. Frenchie knew this because of a thousand different moments over time. He knew this because the one time he had met Butcher’s sister-in-law, and he watched as Butcher gave her the unedited, dirty truth about what happened to Becca. Frenchie knew this by the way Butcher would lie, the way he would give a person what they wanted to hear. The way Butcher moved through the CIA, wining and dining and fucking Raynor. The way Butcher would not protect himself from the scoffing or the slander, but rather use it to his advantage.

Enabler was the word Mallory had used, but Frenchie always found that a bit unkind and unfair, because Butcher would _make_ you take what you needed. Once you were committed to a goal, Butcher made sure you stayed committed. Protecting Hughie meant denying Hughie and Butcher could not do that. Butcher looked over Hughie’s shoulder to look at Frenchie.

_Ah, oui._ Frenchie thought, before speaking outloud- “You are, perhaps in a state of shock, mon ami.”

“Hughie, you just arse-bombed America’s sweetheart. You can’t just piss off.” Butcher was trying to be kind about it, but looking in Hughie’s face, Frenchie doubted it registered.

“I need to go home.” Hughie said.

_And there is the special word._ Frenchie thought amused. Frenchie watched as Butcher looked slightly unsure of himself, warring with himself to find a compromise. Then he looked away from Hughie and Frenchie knew Butcher was going to give in.

“Alright. Frenchie will go with you.” Butcher said.

“Wait, what? No.”

“Either he goes with you, or I break your legs.” Butcher said, and Frenchie was oddly surprised at how forceful Butcher was. Butcher would go _very very_ far in his attempt to get you to do what he wanted, but he did not go to threats with people he liked. Frenchie did catch Sam freezing in the background though, the water making her shiver slightly. Her eyes were wide and glassy and Frenchie had a bad feeling Sam did not take that the way it was intended. There were too many things going on at once.

As Hughie made his way up the stairs, Frenchie had some technical questions for Butcher, also a warning.

Frenchie was not quite sure what Butcher’s plan was, but he was content (as content as one could be) with Butcher’s planning. Right before he left he tapped Butcher on the shoulder and nodded to Sam.

“You may have frightened her.” Frenchie whispered. “I would nip whatever thoughts are going on in her head quickly.”

Butcher gave a long sigh and nodded at Frenchie. Frenchie looked over Butcher’s shoulder to make sure Sam had heard, then he made his way up the stairs, his footsteps careful not to slip on the blood splatter.

When he got outside, he was not surprised to find Hughie staring uselessly at the trucks. Frenchie did not touch him, but herded him to the van. It was a long and quiet ride. Hughie did not fidget, and Frenchie was quite sure Hughie was a fidgeter.

He felt a lancing pain through his thigh and had to pull over at one point to call Cherie, but by the time he was able to, she had already gotten herself out of trouble. Hughie didn’t seem to notice the wild driving and loud honks, just stared out the window. Frenchie had to ask several times for an address, before Hughie gave it to him.

It was like watching a ticking bomb. You watch the numbers and they very evenly and slowly count down. Nothing changes, just a constant beep-beep or click-click.

Perfectly peaceful and calm until the bomb goes off. MM used to sit with Butcher and Frenchie when they got into that kind of state, a hand on the shoulder and a hug when the bomb finally went off. Frenchie never really knew what to make of it, being held by his soulmate without any reason than to be held. But he had enjoyed it and he had started initiating the hugs with MM. Even though it was platonic, Frenchie was surprised that MM never accused him of trying something on him. ( Though MM was quick to accuse Frenchie of trying something on everyone else. To be fair, however, he was right a good deal of the time.)

Frenchie followed Hughie into an apartment building and up his stairs, but let him enter the apartment alone. Hughie would be safe enough and perhaps home would be a release for him. Frenchie knew Jay went to see his parents regularly when he was alive.

Frenchie reached down and rubbed his calf. He was not fond of Jay’s parents. They had refused him access to the funeral. Frenchie had understood that. They had refused Cherie entrance as well. Frenchie had shouted at them and they had shouted at him, but he still held Cherie in his arms that night, rocking her until she stopped sobbing. It was the first time she let him touch her since that night. Still, Frenchie thought, he was not quite sure he had ever regained her trust. Her nails were sharper and her bites harder and she disappeared for weeks sometimes.

Sometimes, Frenchie thought, the universe was trying to give you a hint.

Frenchie was debating pulling out a blunt, but stopped when he heard a loud smash. He carefully eased open the door to look through the apartment. Things were being tossed about the room.

_And the bomb detonates._ Frenchie thought. He stood in the hallway until long after he heard gasping breaths and sobs, content to let Hughie collapse in private. Soulmates, Frenchie thought, did not allow for much grief. Hughie needed to be able to grieve.

When a small looking man came up the stairs and walked towards the apartment, Frenchie nodded. The man was older and quiet and wore a big sweater. The smile he gave Frenchie was awkward. If it was not a relative of Petite Hughie he would be surprised. The man pulled out a key, but looked surprised when the door just opened. He looked confused, but walked in.

Frenchie would have at least pulled out a weapon, but then again the man did not look armed.

Frenchie listened as shouting came from the apartment.

Parents could be difficult. When Hughie came out, steam coming out of his ears, Frenchie told him of his own father.

Common ground and all that.

\---

_Motherfucker._ M.M. thought to himself, looking at his soulmate. Long back coat and Hawaiian shirt aside, M.M. thought Butcher looked good. At least his hair wasn’t slicked back and he looked like he had taken a shower recently. His hands were even scrubbed clean.

His hands were clean.

Fuck.

M.M. did his best not to notice the cuts and bruises on his face, but he was mentally reviewing the list of pain meds he had in his kit. While it was a surprise to see Butcher, it wasn’t a huge surprise to see he had snuck into his office in the two seconds he was out of it. M.M. would swear that Butcher made a point of trying to get M.M. jumpy. It used to be a funny game, now M.M. wondered why Butcher always seemed to want to catch people off guard.

Butcher did look well, though. It made M.M. feel a bit better about cutting ties. Butcher hadn’t dissolved into a mess of drunken, high, mishaps. M.M. had almost broken down when Cherie had told him Frenchie had been on a bender and wouldn’t wake up. He had resisted the urge to go to her, and instead calmed Cherie down and coached her through what to do. Even Monique, who after the eighth run in with Frenchie and Butcher was supportive of cutting ties, had looked at him a bit askance for that one. M.M. wasn’t quite sure what he had been thinking. He had spent the next four weeks trying to find a way to contact Cherie again to check up on Frenchie, only to slam down the phone before anything panned out.

“Aw, Hell, nah. What the fuck do you want?” M.M. asked, as if Butcher wasn’t a sign from the heavens that his day was going to get interesting. He was trying his best, but M.M. could admit to himself that the nine to five life wasn’t for him. He mentally berated himself. Butcher had just walked in the room and M.M. was thinking about caving. This did not bode well for his sanity or his marriage.

“What, I can’t visit me old mate?” Butcher asked, almost jovial. “Rekindle the unbreakable bonds of brothers-in-arms?”

M.M. didn’t smile. “Nope.”

“Come on, M.M.,” Butcher grinned and held open his arms. “Bring it in.”

M.M was vaguely aware that while Butcher was _fond_ of many people, Butcher actively liked him. M.M. had absolutely no idea why. He did know that there was a slightly heartbroken look on Butcher’s face when he said-

“Look, if its all the same- lets just cut the small talk. All your going to do is lie and say how you’re doing fine and I am going to lie and pretend like I am happy to see you.” While Butcher did, generally, look better, M.M. was aware that Butcher was never truly “Fine.” M.M. was also self-aware enough to know he couldn’t give an inch or he would be chasing after Butcher into whatever chaos he had gotten himself into.

“Why are you here?” M.M. finished, being very careful to maintain eye contact even as Butcher’s eyes shifted away. M.M. watched the transformation of Butcher happy to see him to Butcher on business. M.M. would never say it, but he missed the straightforward Butcher-pn-business outlook on life.

“All right.” Butcher said. “How would you like to come back, have another go, hmm?”

M.M. felt his entire body spring to attention. Work. Good Work. Work that wouldn’t leave him bored. Work that meant he could do something besides organize the same office time after time.

“Mm-mm.” He said, eyes looking to the side, but realizing his mistake flashed his eyes up to Butcher. “No, sir. Keep it to yourself. I don’t want to know nothing about nothing.” He held his hands up, but he could already see the wheels in Butcher’s head turning.

Motherfucker.

“I am a happy man now.” M.M. looked down at the paper on his desk. “Life is good, Monique is back, we’re good-“

“Oh yeah, how is Monique?” Billy said, interested, like Monique hadn’t had him removed from his hospital room and blocked his calls.

“Spits on the ground every time your name comes up.” M.M. said. It wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t quite the truth either. Frenchie got a stronger reaction than Butcher, but Monique wasn’t fond of Butcher either. Not after Butcher had dragged him out of her graduation party only for her to find him in the hospital. Butcher had to show the doctors his next-of-kin registration in order to let Monique into the room. Butcher had switched all the paperwork over while trying to convince Monique that M.M. wasn’t choosing him over her- which included showing Monique the ring. Monique had ended up throwing Butcher out after so many shouting matches in hospital corridors. Butcher had gone, but M.M. knew Monique resented the fact Butcher could have legally done the reverse.

“I can’t do that to her again, man. Not to mention, I’m actually making progress with these boys.” M.M. was able to keep eye contact, but damn it if that wasn’t difficult too. Over the years apart, M.M. was actually able to come to terms with the fact Butcher was his soulmate for a reason. Years apart had also taught him that soulmates could be lived without, but damn it if it wasn’t _harder._ M.M. missed Butcher. He missed the stupid accent and the convoluted plans and the fucking tea.

Cause, as much as he hated to admit it, Butcher knew him. They were both liars in their own way, but convincing Butcher always ended up with M.M. realizing some uncomfortable truths about himself.

Butcher raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, so I can see.”

M.M. sighed to himself as he hit the window, yelling at the boys.

“Well, this is God’s work. I can’t argue with that. But a man of your talents? Wasted here.”

M.M. was not going to let that slide. Did he like his job? Somewhat. Did he feel like he was wasting his medical skills, his language skills, and his combat skills? Yes. Was he going to let Butcher act like this work wasn’t fucking important enough for him? Hell, no.

“Look, Butcher, we were into some bad shit, man. Even before the Mallory stuff. And that, that was…” A disaster. M.M. could still feel the burns on his skin and the way those children _screamed_ still haunted his nightmares. “If I am going to make a difference, I just feel more comfortable doing it on a smaller scale.” As opposed to trying and failing to kill supes. It would have been a difference if he had ever actually succeeded.

Butcher looked down, not meeting his eye. Shit.

“I am a motherfucker with a heart. Whereas you, your just a motherfucker.”

Butcher made that little sound then. That little sound that meant if M.M. listened to another word of Butcher’s pitch he was probably going to be paying for a divorce lawyer. M.M. took a deep breath.

“Funny you should mention making a difference.” Butcher got into his space a bit, leaning against the window. It was cozy, companionable.

M.M. didn’t trust it.

“’cause we just dusted a supe.” Butcher had a gleam in his eye and a tilt to his chin and M.M. started mentally dividing up his assets.

“Bullshit.”

“Translucent.” Butcher grinned at him, pleased with himself. M.M. felt a slight thrill himself. The man was nigh on indestructible and Butcher was standing there with _only_ a few cuts and bruises. M.M.’s world turned on its axis and he was _engaged._

And from the look in Billy’s eye, he knew he had him.

“Well, come on, you lime-sucking smart-ass. How the hell did you do it?” They were leaned against eachother companionably now, like M.M. used to lean against his war buddies.

And then Billy let him have it, the whole shebang. It didn’t take much for M.M. to agree.

Even if Billy was lying about Frenchie.

They were going to split up in the parking lot when Billy bent down to look in his passenger side window. M.M. knew there was something wrong in a second, leaving his own car to jog over to Butcher.

“Hey, Sparky, wake up.” Billy didn’t touch the woman in his passanger side seat, who looked like she had passed out. M.M. leaned around him and checked her pulse, which wasn’t quite right.

“This one of Frenchie’s drug friends?” M.M. said as he pulled open the door to the car, pushing Billy out of the way.

“No.” Billy shook his head. “This is my electrician.”

“The one from Queens?” M.M. asked as he checked her breathing.

“Don’t know where she is from now.” Billy said, still not touching her. M.M. found that odd. Billy wasn’t handsy, but he wasn’t hesitant either.

“Well, wherever it is, they don’t have water.” M.M. said. “She’s dehydrated, do you know the last time she ate?”

Billy shook his head. “No, had other things on my mind since she turned up.”

M.M. looked at him surprised. Billy had known his work schedule, his birthday, his mother’s maiden name and the last place he had gone to the doctor within minutes of meeting him, and he didn’t even have his mark.

“Look, there was a pretty pressing threat, alright?” Billy said, not defensive, but not guilt free either.

“We need to get her on an I.V. Can we take her to the hospital? M.M. asked, already knowing the answer.

Billy shook his head. “No, I don’t think she would like that.”

“Where are we setting up, then? I’ll pick up the supplies and meet you there.”

Billy gave him an address. M.M. ran back to his car and grabbed a bottle of water.

“Keep her cool. I’m going to pick up some stuff for an I.V. Wet a cloth and hold it to her mouth, see if she will take any of the water. You know the basics.”

Billy nodded.

It didn’t take long for M.M. to pick up the supplies and make his way to the moving truck.

_Damn Butcher, you’re still a cheap son of a bitch._

Billy’s electrician was propped up in a chair, with Billy pouring a bit of water down her throat. No other part of him was touching her. M.M. immediately started setting up an I.V., attaching the bag to the side of the truck.

The girl was awake, moving only slightly. Her eyes followed M.M. but she didn’t seem to be bothered by him sticking a needle in her hand. He wasn’t known for his bedside manner.

“No drugs.” She said, quietly.

“Yeah, I got you.” M.M. said. “We’re just going to get some water in you, yeah? When was the last time you ate?” He watched as her eyes glazed slightly as she tried to think.

In the end she shrugged, shaking her head.

“Mm-hm.” M.M. nodded. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Its been over two days at least.” Butcher said, chiming in for the first time after minutes of silence.

“Right.” M.M. looked at his soulmate and Billy didn’t cringe, but he wasn’t looking particularly proud either. “Butcher, go get us some decent food, alright. There is a gas station up the road. Dried fruit, beef jerky, hell, get some chocolate.”

Billy got up and left quickly, but M.M. didn’t miss the way the electrician tensed as he left. Judging from the pause in his step, Billy hadn’t missed it either.

“I’ll be back in a mo’, M.M. will get you fixed up in a jiffy.” Billy gave her a long look until she unclenched her shoulders. Then he was gone.

M.M. was left alone with the woman and he started checking her vitals. She didn’t say anything, but she did wince a couple of times when he pressed on her ribs.

“Does it hurt to breathe?” He asked. She shook her head, then looked like she considered something, but shook her head again.

“You wanna try that again?” M.M. asked, pressing a hand down to the bottom of her rib.

“I have asthma.” She said. “Don’t currently have an inhaler. There is no pain from my ribs though, I’ve had broken ribs before.”

“Take a deep breath for me.” M.M. said, placing a hand to her chest. She did, holding it till he said she could breathe out.

“I need you to take off the coat.” M.M. said. She was wearing a woman’s coat, a nice one from the looks of it. It wasn’t Monique’s style, but his daughter would have loved it. She was reluctant to pull it off, and M.M. could see why she would want to keep it on. She was wearing a tank top, and her arms were covered in bruises and cuts. Around one of her wrists was the deep cuts that come from pulling against a handcuff.

“Have these been treated?” M.M. asked, lifting her arms and twisting them back and forth to check motion.

“Not really.” She said. M.M. noticed a long surgical scar up the back of her forearm. He noticed there was a smudge of makeup on her biceps and gave her a look.

“We need to get your arms clean. I won’t say a word about them and I’ll give you something to wrap them in, yeah?” M.M. said.

She nodded and M.M. handed her a box of moist towellets and a grocery bag.

“Then get to work.” M.M. said. She was mostly fine. She looked like a battered wife, but if she ran with Butcher there could be a thousand explanations for those cuts. She did need to eat and drink, maybe get a good night’s sleep. He occupied himself with setting up the laptop and the camera as she wiped herself down.

They worked mostly in silence, the only sounds were the sound of breathing.

“Why no drugs?” M.M. asked, tired of the silence after a few minutes.

“Hmm?” The woman looked up from her arms, already looking better as the I.V. took affect.

“You didn’t want drugs, that many cuts I would have been begging for something. Are you allergic, or?” M.M. let the question trail off.

The woman twisted her arm so he saw the scar on her forearm.

“Got hooked on opioids after I broke my arm. Been clean for about four years, but I don’t want to take chances, yeah?”

“You think I’m going to give you an opioid for some cuts and bruises?” M.M. looked at her like she was crazy.

She shrugged. “Didn’t know what you were putting in the I.V. bag. Last time I was hooked up to these I was post-op and delusional.”

“Opioid for cuts and bruises.” M.M. rolled his eyes. “You know, my other soulmate may have offered you some, but I am a professional. You should take some Ibuprofen, but that’s about it.”

“Ibuprofen doesn’t do a damn thing.” She said, rolling her eyes back at him.

“Yeah?” M.M. said. “I bet the last time you took it was right after getting clean, right? Nothing is going to work when you and you’re body is expecting morphine.”

“Dilaudid.”

“Shit.” M.M. looked at her with an eyebrow raised. “How the fuck do you get enough cash to become addicted to Dilaudid?”

She laughed. “You don’t. You just go into a lot of fucking debt.”

“True of most addicts. But most of them are smart enough to go for something with a bit less street value, like OxyContin.”

“I aimed high.”

“You mean you aimed to get high. Still, four years isn’t anything to laugh at. You avoided heart problems?

“As far as I know.” She said.

M.M. kept unboxing shit. “I’m not hugely tech savvy, but this stuff looks a bit out of date.” The woman leaned forward, adjusting the I.V. so she could avoid tugging on it.

“Eh.” She said. “It’ll work. It will probably offend Hughie, though.”

“Hughie?” M.M. raised an eyebrow. The woman tilted her head.

“Billy didn’t tell you?” 

“Billy hasn’t even told me your name.” M.M. said.

She made a face. “I’m Sam. Hughie is one of Butcher’s other soulmates.”

“He’s just been collecting them left and right, huh?” M.M. looked her over. “Its about time he moved on from Becca. Still he didn’t tell me shit about it. You want to fill me in?”

“Not particularly.” Sam said. “I’ve been told to keep my mouth shut.”

M.M. set down the box, looking at her. “I can’t think of how Billy got a soulmate that listens to orders.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Oddly enough, I trust him.”

“Well, tell me how that works out for you.” M.M. said. Then it was silent again, until Butcher opened the door with a couple of bags of food.

M.M. grinned as Billy handed him a burger. “Only you could get a person to trust you after she looks like she’s been beaten within an inch of her life.”

“Didn’t give into your interrogation, then, eh?” Butcher handed over a Hershey’s bar and some fries. “Good Girl.”

“She did mention the fact you have another soulmate showing up.” Billy went to snatch the chocolate back, but Sam put a leg up between them and let out a playful hiss.

“Yeah,” Billy said. “Hughie, met him two days ago. You should probably check him over if you can. He’s been a bit weaselly and there was an explosion.”

“You must have had an exciting two days.” M.M. started booting up the laptop, eating his burger with one hand.

“I’ll tell you the story later.” Billy said as there was a heavy, rhythmic knock on the truck door.

“Bang on time.” Billy smiled at M.M. and he felt a cold, certain knowledge he wasn’t going to like this. He looked over to Sam, but she seemed pretty intent on inhaling that chocolate bar.

A tall, awkward kid came in and held his hand out.

“Hi. I’m Hughie.”

M.M. couldn’t believe it. Sam, Sam at least looked like she was in the realm of appropriate age for Butcher- if a few years younger. This boy looked like he had just passed twenty. The fuck, was Billy robbing cradles now? M.M. shook his head, but didn’t respond to the outstretched hand.

Then, M.M. looked past Hughie to give Butcher a piece of his mind, because that kid was wearing more than a few hickeys and was probably half Butcher’s age when the sunlight fell on a slight muscled figure.

M.M. had _known_ Butcher had been lying about Frenchie, but he didn’t think he would have gone as far as to bring him in on the job.

“Smelly motherfucker.” M.M. said, as he jumped from his chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has any questions about the universe, please leave a comment. I am enjoying responding to everyone's questions and I am prone to give more information than asked for.   
> Also I just wrote twelve pages in less than five hours. I am ready for death. This was remarkably easier to write than Cherry. It might be practice, it might be because Cherry was an evil episode. Who knows?


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